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POEMS BY A LITTLE GIRL 




HILDA 



POEMS 

BY A LITTLE GIRL 



BY 

HILDA CONKLING 

14 

WITH A PREFACE BY 
AMY LOWELL 

AND A PORTRAIT BY 

JAMES CHAPIN 




NEW YORK 

FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 



V e, °^ 






Copyright, 1920, by 
Frederick A. Stokes Company 



All rights reserved, including that of translation 

into foreign languages, including 

the Scandinavian. 



s 



m -3 1920 



©CU5G6810 



FOR YOU, MOTHER 

I HAVE a dream for you, Mother, 
Like a soft thick fringe to hide your eyes. 
I have a surprise for you, Mother, 
Shaped like a strange butterfly. 
I have found a way of thinking 
To make you happy; 
I have made a song and a poem 
All twisted into one. 
If I sing, you listen; 
If I think, you know. 
I have a secret from everybody in the world full 

of people 
But I cannot always remember how it goes; 
It is a song 
For you, Mother, 

With a curl of cloud and a feather of blue 
And a mist 

Blowing along the sky. 
If I sing it some day, under my voice, 
Will it make you happy? 



I v ] 



Thanks are due to the editors of Poetry: 
A Magazine of Verse, The Delineator, 
Good Housekeeping, The Lyric, St. 
Nicholas, and Contemporary Verse for 
their courteous permission to reprint 
many of the following poems. 



[vi] 



PREFACE 

A book which needs to be written is one deal- 
ing with the childhood of authors. It would be 
not only interesting, but instructive; not merely 
profitable in a general way, but practical in a par- 
ticular. We might hope, in reading it, to gain 
some sort of knowledge as to what environments 
and conditions are most conducive to the growth 
of the creative faculty. We might even learn how 
not to strangle this rare faculty in its early years. 

At this moment I am faced with a difficult task, 
for here is an author and her childhood in a most 
unusual position; these two conditions — that of 
being an author, and that of being a child — ap- 
pear simultaneously, instead of in the due order to 
which we are accustomed. For I wish at the out- 
set to state, and emphatically, that it is poetry, the 
stuff and essence of poetry, which this book con- 
tains. I know of no other instance in which such 
really beautiful poetry has been written by a child; 
but, confronted with so unwonted a state of things, 
two questions obtrude themselves: how far has 
the condition of childhood been impaired by, not 
only the possession, but the expression, of the gift 
of writing; how far has the condition of author? 



PREFACE 

ship (at least in its more mature state still to 
come) been hampered by this early leap into the 
light? 

The first question concerns the little girl and 
can best be answered by herself some twenty 
years hence; the second concerns the world, and 
again the answer must wait. We can, however, 
do something — we can see what she is and what 
she has done. And if the one is interesting to the 
psychologist, the other is no less important to the 
poet. 

Hilda Conkling is the younger daughter of Mrs. 
Grace Hazard Conkling, Assistant Professor of 
English at Smith College, Northampton, Massa- 
chusetts. At the time of writing, Hilda has just 
passed her ninth birthday. Her sister, Elsa, is 
two years her senior. The children and their 
mother live all the year round in Northampton, 
and glimpses of the woods and hills surrounding 
the little town crop up again and again in these 
poems. This is Emily Dickinson's country, and 
there is a reminiscent sameness in the fauna and 
flora of her poems in these. 

The two little girls go to a school a few blocks 
from where they live. In the afternoons, they 
take long walks with their mother, or play in the 
garden while she writes. On rainy days, there 
are books and Mrs. Conkling' s piano, which is not 

[ viii ] 



PREFACE 

just a piano, for Mrs. Conkling is a musician, and 
we may imagine that the children hear a special 
music as they certainly read a special literature. 
By " special " I do not mean a prescribed course 
(for dietitians of the mind are quite as apt to be 
faddists as dietitians of the stomach), but just 
that sort of reading which a person who passion- 
ately loves books would most want to introduce 
her children to. And here I think we have the 
answer to the why of Hilda. She and her sister 
have been their mother's close companions ever 
since they were born. I They have never known 
that somewhat equivocal relationship — a child 
with its nurse. They have never been for hours 
at a time in contact with an elementary intelli- 
gence. If Hilda had shown these poems to even 
the most sympathetic nurse, what would have been 
the result? In the first place, they would, in all 
probability, have been lost, since Hilda does not 
write her poems, but tells them ; in the second, they 
would have been either extravagantly praised or 
laughingly commented upon. In either case, the 
fine flower of creation would most certainly have 
been injured. 

Then again, blessed though many of the nurses 
of childhood undoubtedly are (and we all remem- 
ber them), they have no means of answering the 
thousand and one questions of an eager, opening 

[ixj 



PREFACE 






mind. To be an adequate companion to child- 
hood, one must know so many things. Hilda is 
fortunate in her mother, for if these poems reveal 
one thing more than another it is that Mrs. 
Conkling is dowered with an admirable tact. In 
the dedication poem to her mother, the little girl 
says: 



" If I sing, you listen ; 
If I think, you know." 



No finer tribute could be offered by one person to 
another than the contented certainty of under- 
standing in those two lines. 

Hilda tells her poems, and the method of it is 
this: They come out in the course of conversa- 
tion, and Mrs. Conkling is so often engaged in 
writing that there is nothing to be remarked if she 
scribbles absently while talking to the little girls. 
But this scribbling is really a complete draught of 
the poem. Occasionally Mrs. Conkling writes 
down the poem later from memory and reads it 
afterwards to the child, who always remembers 
if it is not exactly in its original form. No line, 
no cadence, is altered from Hilda's version; the 
titles have been added for convenience, but they 
are merely obvious handles derived from the 
text. 

Naturally it is only a small proportion of 

[x] 



PREFACE 

Hilda's life which is given to poetry. Much is 
devoted to running about, a part to study, etc. It 
is, however, significant that Hilda is not very keen 
about games with other children. Not that she 
is by any means either shy or solitary, but they do 
not greatly interest her. Doubtless childhood 
pays its debt of possession more steadily than we 
know. 

Now to turn to the book itself; at the very start, 
here is an amazing thing. This slim volume con- 
tains one hundred and seven separate poems, and 
that is counting as one all the very short pieces 
written between the ages of five and six. Cer- 
tainly that is a remarkable output for a little girl, 
and the only possible explanation is that the poems 
are perfectly instinctive. There is no working 
over as with an adult poet. Hilda is subconscious, 
not self-conscious. Her mother says that she 
rarely hesitates for a word. When the feeling is 
strong, it speaks for itself. Read the dedication 
poem, " For You, Mother/' It is full of feeling, 
and of that simple, dignified, adequate diction 
which is the speech of feeling: 

" I have found a way of thinking 
To make you happy." 

That is beautiful, and, once read, inevitable; 
but it waited for a child to say. Poem after poem 

[ xi ] 



PREFACE 

is charged with this feeling, this expression of 
great love : 

" I will sing you a song, 
Sweets-of-my-heart, 
With love in it, 
(How I love you!)" 

" Will you love me to-morrow after next 
As if I had a bird's way of singing? " 

But it is not only the pulse of feeling in such 
passages which makes them surprising; it is the 
perfectly original expression of it. When one 
reads a thing and voluntarily exclaims: " How 
beautiful! How natural! How true!" then 
one knows that one has stumbled upon that flash 
of personality which we call genius. These poems 
are full of such flashes : 

" Sparkle up, little tired flower 

Leaning in the grass ! " 

• • • 

" There is a star that runs very fast, 
That goes pulling the moon 
Through the tops of the poplars." 

• • • 

" There is sweetness in the tree, 
And fireflies are counting the leaves. 
I like this country, 
I like the way it has." 



PREFACE 

A pansy has a " thinking face "; a rooster has a 
comb " gay as a parade," he shouts " crooked 
words, loud . . . sharp . . . not beautiful!"; 
frozen water is asked if it cannot " lift " itself 
" with sun," and u Easter morning says a glad 
Aing over and over." 

No matter who wrote them, those passages 
would be beautiful, the oldest poet in the world 
could not improve upon them; and yet the reader 
has only to turn to the text to see the incredibly 
early age at which such expressions came into the 
author's mind. 

Where childhood betrays genius is in the mount- 
ing up of detail. Inadequate lines not infre- 
quently jar a total effect, as when, in the poem of 
the star pulling the moon, she suddenly ends, 
" Mr. Moon, does he make you hurry?" Or, 
speaking of a drop of water: 

" So it went on with its life 
For several years 

Until at last it was never heard of 
Any more." 

This is the perennial child, thinking as children 
think; and we are glad of it. It makes the whole 
more healthy, more sure of development. When 
the subconscious mind of Hilda Conkling takes a 
vacation, she does not " nod/' as erstwhile 

[ xiii ] 



PREFACE 

Homer; she merely reverts to type and is a child 
again. 

I think too highly of these poems to speak of 
the volume as though it were the finished achieve- 
ment of a grown-up person. Some of the poems 
can be taken in that way, but by no means all. 
The child who writes them frequently transcends 
herself, but her thoughts for the most part are 
those proper to every imaginative child. Fairies 
play a large role in her fancies, and so does the 
sandman. There are kings, and princesses, anc 
golden wings, and there are reminiscences of 
story-books, and hints of pictures that have pleasec 
her. After all, that is the way we all make our 
poems, but the grown-up poet tries to get away 
from his author, he tries to see more than the 
painter has seen. The little girl is quite un- 
troubled by any questions of technique. She 
takes what to her is the obvious always, and in 
these copied pieces it is, naturally, less her own 
peculiar obvious than in the nature poems. 

Hilda Conkling is evidently possessed of a rare 
and accurate power of observation. And when 
we add this to her gift of imagination, we se 
that it is the perfectly natural play of these two 
faculties which makes what to her is an obvious 
expression. She does not search for it, it is her 
natural mode of thought. But, luckily for her, 

[xiv] 



PREFACE 

she has been guided by a wisdom which has hot 
attempted to show her a better way. Her obser- 
vation has been carefully, but unobtrusively, culti- 
vated; her imagination has been stimulated by the 
reading of excellent books; but both these lines 
of instruction have been kept apparently apart 
from her own work. She has been let alone there ; 
she has been taught by an analogy which she has 
never suspected. By this means, her poetical gift 
has functioned happily, without ever for a mo- 
ment experiencing the tension of doubt. 

A few passages will serve to show how well 
Hilda knows how to use her eyes : 

" The water came in with a wavy look 
Like a spider's web." 

A bluebird has a back like a feathered sky." 
Apostrophizing a snow-capped mountain sheV' 
writes : 

" You shine like a lily 

But with a different whiteness." 

She asks a humming-bird: 

" Why do you stand on the air 
And no sun shining? " 

She hears a chickadee : 

[xvl 



PREFACE 

" Far off I hear him talking 
The way smooth bright pebbles 
Drop into water." 

Now let us follow her a step farther, to where 
the imagination takes a firmer hold: 

" The world turns softly 
Not to spill its lakes and rivers. 
The water is held in its arms 
And the sky is held in the water." 



T 



School lessons, and a reflection in a pond 
that is the stuff of which all poetry is made, 
is the fusion which shows the quality of the poet. 
Turn to the text and read " Geography.'' Really, 
this is an extraordinary child! 

It is pleasant to watch her with the artist's 
eagerness intrigued by the sounds of words, for 
instance : 

" — silvery lonesome lapping of the long wave." 

Again, enchanted by a little bell of rhyme, we have 
this amusing catalogue : 

" John-flowers, 
Mary-flowers, 
Polly-flowers 
Cauli-flowers." 

That is the conscious Hilda, the gay little girl, 

[ xvi ] 



PREFACE 

but it shows a quick ear nevertheless. We can 
almost hear the giggle with which that " Cauli- 
flowers " came out. Usually rhyme does not ap- 
pear to be a matter of moment to her. Some 
poets think in rhyme, some do not; Hilda evi- 
dently belongs to the second category. " Tj£&&^ 
4ll£," and " Tji g_ Apple-Je lly-Fish-Tree," and 
u Short Story " are the only poems in the book 
which seemTTD follow a clearly rhymed pattern. 
If any misguided schoolmistress had ever sug- 
gested that a poem should t have rhyme and 
metre, this book would never have been " told/* 
In " Moon Doves," however, there is a distinctly 
metrical effect without rhyme. But the great 
majority of the poems are built upon cadence, 
and the subtlety of this little girl's cadences 
are a delight to those who can hear them. 
Doubtless her musical inheritance has all to do 
with this, for in poem after poem the instinct for 
rhythm is unerring. So constantly is this the case, 
that it is scarcely necessary to point out particular 
examples. I may, however, name, as two of her 
best for other qualities as well, " Gift," and 
11 Poems." The latter contains two of her quick 
strokes of observation and comparison: the morn- 
ing " like the inside of a snow-apple," and she her- 
self curled " cushion-shaped " in the window-seat. 
Dear me ! How simple these poems seem when 

[ xy ii ] 



PREFACE 



you read them done. But try to write something 
new about a dandelion. Try it; and then read 
the poem of that name here. It is charming; 
how did she think of it? How indeed! 

Delightful conceits she has — another is " Sun 
Flowers" — but how comes a child of eight to 
prick and point with the rapier of irony? For it 
is nothing less than irony in " The Tower and the 
Falcon." Did she quite grasp its meaning her- 
self? We may doubt it. In this poem, the sub- 
conscious is very much on the job. 

To my thinking, the most successful poems in 
the book — and now I mean successful from a 
grown-up standpoint — are " For You, Mother," 
"Red Rooster," " Gift," "Poems," "Dande- 
lion," " Butterfly,^ " Weather," " Hills," and 
" Geography." And it will be noticed that these 
are precisely the poems which must have sprung 
from actual experience. They are not the book 
poems, not even the fairy poems, they are the 
records of reactions from actual happenings. I 
have not a doubt that Hilda prefers her fairy- 
stories. They are the conscious play of her 
imagination, it must be " fun " to make them. 
Ah, but it is the unconscious with which we are 
most concerned, those very poems which are prob- 
ably to her the least interesting are the ones which 
most certainly reveal the fulness of poetry from 

[ xviii ] 



PREFACE 

which she draws. She probably hardly thought 
at all, so natural was it, to say that three pinks 
" smell like more of them in a blue vase," but the 
expression fills the air with so strong a scent that 
no superlative could increase it. 

"Gait " i s a l ovely-poem, it has feeling, expres- 
sion, originality, cadence. If a child can write 
such a poem at eight years old, what does it mean? 
That depends, I think, on how long the instructors 
of youth can be persuaded to keep " hands off." 
A period of imitation is, I fear, inevitable, but if 
consciousness is not induced by direct criticism, if 
instruction in the art of writing is abjured, the 
imitative period will probably be got through 
without undue loss. I think there is too much 
native sense of beauty and proportion here to be 
entirely killed even by the drying and freezing 
process which goes by the name of education. 

What this book chiefly shows is high promise; 
but it also has its pages of real achievement, and 
that of so high an order it may well set us pon- 
dering. 

Amy Lowell. 



[xix] 



CONTENTS 

FOUR TO FIVE YEARS OLD 

PAGE 

First Songs 3 

FIVE TO SIX YEARS OLD 

Garden of the World 9 

Theatre-Song 10 

Velvets n 

Two Songs 13 

Moon Song 15 

Sunset 16 

Mouse 17 

^Short Story . 18 

By Lake Champlain 19 

Spring Song . 20 

Water 22 

Shady Bronn 23 

Chickadee 24 

The Champlain Sandman 25 

Rose-Moss 26 

About My Dreams 27 

SIX TO SEVEN YEARS OLD 

Autumn Song 31 

The Dream 32 

> Butterfly 33 

[xxi ] 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 



Evening 34 

Thunder Shower 35 

Red Cross Song 36 

Purple Asters 37 

Song for a Play 38 

Peacock Feathers . " 39 

"•Red Rooster 40 

Tree-Toad 41 

SEVEN TO NINE YEARS OLD 

The Lonesome Wave . 45 

Red-Cap Moss 46 

Rambler Rose . . . . 47 

» * Gift 48 

The White Cloud . 49 

Moon Thought 50 

The Old Bridge . 51 

Ferns 52 

Land of Nod 53 

Sun Flowers 54 

Holland Song 55 

Fountain-Talk 56 

Poplars .... ....... 57 

v The Tower and the Falcon 58 

Thoughts 59 

Poem-Sketch in Three Parts 60 

The Dew-Light 63 

Yellow Summer-Throat 64 

Pegasus 65 

Venice Bridge 66 

[ xxii ] 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Night Goes Rushing By . . . . . . . 67 

k Dandelion 68 

If I Could Tell You the Way 69 

Rose-Petal 70 

i Poems 71 

Seagarde 72 

Easter . 73 

Bluebird 74 

Geography . • -75 

March Thought . 76 

Morning . ... 77 

Song 78 

Snow Flake Song 79 

Snow Storm . . 80 

Poppy 81 

^Butterfly 82 

Clouds 83 

Narcissus 84 

Little Snail ..85 

Cherries are Ripe 86 

A Thing Forgotten 87 

Little Papoose 88 

Fairies Again 89 

Oh, My Hazel-Eyed Mother 90 

The Green Palm Tree ....... 91 

v Treasure 92 

Two Pictures 93 

Tell Me . 94 

Silverhorn 95 

Sparkling Drop of Water ...... 96 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 



Hay-Cock . 97 

Only Morning-Glory that Flowered ... 98 

\Weather 99 

Summer-Day Song 100 

Pink Rose-Petals 10 1 

The Lonesome Green Apple 102 

I Am • . 103 

Mushroom Song 104 

The Apple- Jelly-Fish-Tree 105 

Three Loves 106 

The Field of Wonder 107 

Moon Doves . . . . . . . . . . 108 

I Went to Sea 109 

Three Thoughts of My Heart no 

Snow-Capped Mountain in 

The Brook and its Children 112 

Bird of Paradise .113 

Shiny Brook 114 

Hills . 115 

Adventure . . . . . 116 

Fairies 117 

Humming-Bird . . 118 

Blue Grass H9 

Envoy . 120 



[ xxiv ] 



FOUR TO FIVE YEARS OLD 



FIRST SONGS 



i 



R 



057 plum-tree, think of me 
When Spring comes down the world! 



y 



ii 

There's dozens full of dandelions 

Down in the field: 

Little gold plates, 

Little gold dishes in the grass. 

I cannot count them, 

But the fairies know every one. 



ill 

Oh wrinkling star, wrinkling up so wise, 
When you go to sleep do you shut your eyes? 

IV 

The red moon comes out in the night. 

When I'm asleep, the moon comes pattering up 

Into the trees. 

Then I peep out my window 

To watch the moon go by. 

[3] 



FIRST SONGS 
v 

Sparkle up, little tired flower 
Leaning in the grass! 
Did you find the rain of night 
Too heavy to hold? 



VI 

The garden is full of flowers 
All dancing round and round. 

John-flowers, 

Mary-flowers, 

Polly-flowers, 

Cauli-flowers, 
They dance round and round 
And they bow down and down 
To a black-eyed daisy. 



VII 

There is going to be the sound of bells 

And murmuring. 

This is the brook dance : 

There is going to be sound of voices, 

And the smallest will be the brook: 

It is the song of water 

You will hear, 

[4] 



FIRST SONGS 

A little winding song 
To dance to . . . 

VIII 

Blossoms in the growing tree, 
Why don't you speak to me? 
x I want to grow like you, 
Smiling . . . smiling . . • 

IX 

If I find a moon, 
I will sing a moon-song. 
If I find a flower, 
What song shall I sing, 
Rose-song or clover-song? 



The blossoms will he gone in the winter 
Oh apples, come for the June! 
Can you come, will you bloom? 
Will you stay till the cold? 



XI 



^ I will sing you a song, 
Sweets-of-my-heart, 

[5] 



FIRST SONGS 

With love in it, 

{How I love you!) 

And a rose to swing in the wind, 

The wind that swings roses ! 

XII 

Will you love me to-morrow after next, 
As if I had a bird's way of singing? 



[6] 



FIVE TO SIX YEARS OLD 



A* 



i / 



•» ».•••», 



GARDEN OF THE WORLD 

THE butterfly swings over the violet 
That stands by the water, 
In the garden that sings 
All day. 

The sun goes up in the dawn, 
The water waves softly. 
In the trees are little breezes, 
In the garden trees. 
Blue hills and blue waters ! 
The big blue ocean lies around in the sun 
Watching his waves toss . . . 



[9] 



THEATRE-SONG 

EAGLES were flying over the sky 
And mermaids danced in the gold waters. 
Eagles were calling over the sky 
And the water was the color of blue flowers. 
Sunshine was 'fleeted in the waves 
Like meadows of white buds. 
This is what I saw 
On a morning long ago . • • 



[10] 



VELVETS 

By a Bed of Pansies 

THIS pansy has a thinking face 
Like the yellow moon. 
This one has a face with white blots: 
I call him the clown. 
Here goes one down the grass 
With a pretty look of plumpness; 
She is a little girl going to school 
With her hands in the pockets of her pinafore, 
Her name is Sue. 
I like this one, in a bonnet, 
Waiting, 

Her eyes are so deep ! 
But these on the other side, 
These that wear purple and blue, 
They are the Velvets, 
The king with his cloak, 
The queen with her gown, 
The prince with his feather. 
These are dark and quiet 
And stay alone. 

[»] 



VELVETS 

/ know you, Velvets, 
Color of Dark, 
Like the pine-tree on the hill 
When stars shine! 



I 12] 



TWO SONGS 
After Hearing the Wagner Story-book 



THE birds came to tell Siegfried a story, 
A story of the woods out of a tree : 
How the ring was fairy 
And there were things it could do for him 
Day and night : 

How the river flowed green and wavy 
Under the Rainbow Bridge, 
And Briinnhilda slept in a wreath of fire. 
Grane watched her, standing close beside, 
Grane the big white horse, 
Dear Grane of her heart. 
She dreamed she was far from her father, 
But Siegfried was coming, 
Siegfried, through the big trees, 
Up the hill, 
Through the fire ! 



II 



" Siegfried, hear us ! 
Give us back the ring! " 

[13] 



TWO SONGS 

The lady with the shell, 

The water-lady with the green hair, 

Calling, cried " Siegfried! " 

But he laughed to hear her, 

Laughed in the sun 

And went into the woods laughing: 

He was happy in his heart, 

And he had golden hair 

Till the sun loved him. 

" Siegfried! " 

I will call him ! 

" Siegfried! " 

But he will not hear me. 

He could talk to birds and rivers, 

And he is gone. 



[14] 



y 



MOON SONG 



THERE is a star that runs very fast, 
That goes pulling the moon 
Through the tops of the poplars. 
It is all in silver, 
The tall star: 

The moon rolls goldenly along 
Out of breath. 
Mr. Moon, does he make you hurry? 



C^5] 



SUNSET 

ONCE upon a time at evening-light 
A little girl was sad. 
There was a color in the sky, 
A color she knew in her dreamful heart 
And wanted to keep. 
She held out her arms 
Long, long, 

And saw it flow away on the wind. 
When it was gone 
She did not love the moonlight 
Or care for the stars. 
She had seen the rose in the sky. 

Sometimes I am sad 
Because I have a thought 
Of this little girl. 



[16] 



MOUSE 

LITTLE MOUSE in gray velvet, 
Have you had a cheese-breakfast? 
There are no crumbs on your coat, 
Did you use a napkin? 
I wonder what you had to eat, 
And who dresses you in gray velvet? 



[i7] 



I 



SHORT STORY 

FOUND the gold on the hill; 
I found the hid gold! 



The wicked queen 
Stole the gold, 
Hid it under a stone 
And never told. 

The selfish queen 
Rolling away 
In her white limousine, 
Never knew nor dreamed 
That I searched all day 
Till I found the gold, 
The gold! 



[18] 



BY LAKE CHAMPLAIN 

I WAS bare as a leaf 
And I felt the wind on my shoulder, 
The trees laughed 

When I picked up the sun in my fingers. 
The wind was chasing the waves, 
Tangling their white curls. 
" Willow trees," I said, 
" O willows, 
Look at your lake ! 
Stop laughing at a little girl 
Who runs past your feet in the sand! " 



[19] 



SPRING SONG 

1LOVE daffodils. 
I love Narcissus when he bends his head. 
I can hardly keep March and spring and Sunday 

and daffodils 
Out of my rhyme of song. 
Do you know anything about the spring 
When it comes again ? 
God knows about it while winter is lasting. 
Flowers bring him power in the sprinp, 
And birds bring it, and children. 
He is sometimes sad and alone 
Up there in the sky trying to keep his worlds 

happy. 
I bring him songs 

When he is in his sadness, and weary. 
I tell him how I used to wander out 
To study stars and the moon he made, 
And flowers in the dark of the wood. 
I keep reminding him about his flowers he has 

forgotten, 
And that snowdrops are up. 
What can I say to make him listen? 

[20] 



SPRING SONG 

" God," I say, 

f Don't you care ! 

Nobody must be sad or sorry 

In the spring-time of flowers." 



[21] 



WATER 

THE world turns softly 
Not to spill its lakes and rivers. 
The water is held in its arms 
And the sky is held in the water. 
What is water, 
That pours silver, 
And can hold the sky? 



[22] 



SHADY BRONN 

WHEN the clouds come deep against the sky 
I sit alone in my room to think, 
To remember the fairy dreams I made, 
Listening to the rustling out of the trees. 
The stories in my fairy-tale book 
Come new to me every day. 
But at my farm on the hill-top 
I have the wind for a fairy, 
And the shapes of things : 
Shady Bronn is the name of my little farm: 
It is the name of a dream I have 
Where leaves move, 
And the wind rings them like little bells. 



[23] 



CHICKADEE 

THE chickadee in the appletree 
Talks all the time very gently. 
He makes me sleepy. 
I rock away to the sea-lights. 
Far off I hear him talking 
The way smooth bright pebbles 
Drop into water . . . 
Chick-a-dee-dee-dee . • . 



[24] 



THE CHAMPLAIN SANDMAN 

THE Sandman comes pattering across the 
Bay: 
His hair is silver, 
His footstep soft. 
The moon shines on his silver hair, 
On his quick feet. 

The Sandman comes searching across the Bay: 
He goes to all the houses he knows 
To put sand in little girls' eyes. 
That is why I go to my sleepy bed, 
And why the lake-gull leaves the moon alone. 
There are no wings to moonlight any more, 
Only the Sandman's hair. 



[25] 



ROSE-MOSS 

LITTLE ROSE-MOSS beside the stone, 
Are you lonely in the garden? 
There are no friends of you, 
And the birds are gone. 
Shall I pick you?" 

" Little girl up by the hollyhock, 

I am not lonely. 

I feel the sun burning, 

I hold light in my cup, 

I have all the rain I want, 

I think things to myself that you don't know, 

And I listen to the talk of crickets. 

I am not lonely, 

But you may pick me 

And take me to your mother." 



[26] 



ABOUT MY DREAMS 

NOW the flowers are all folded 
And the dark is going by. 
The evening is arising . . . 
It is time to rest. 
When I am sleeping 
I find my pillow full of dreams. 
They are all new dreams : 
No one told them to me 
Before I came through the cloud. 
They remember the sky, my little dreams, 
They have wings, they are quick, they are sweet, 
Help me tell my dreams 
To the other children, 
So that their bread may taste whiter, 
So that the milk they drink 
May make them think of meadows 
In the sky of stars. 

Help me give bread to the other children 
So that their dreams may come back: 
So they will remember what they knew 
Before they came through the cloud. 
Let me hold their little hands in the dark, 
The lonely children, 

[27] 



ABOUT MY DREAMS 

The babies that have no mothers any more, 

Dear God, let me hold up my silver cup 

For them to drink, 

And tell them the sweetness 

Of my dreams. 



[28] 



SIX TO SEVEN YEARS OLD 



AUTUMN SONG 

I MADE a ring of leaves 
On the autumn grass : 
I was a fairy queen all day. 
Inside the ring, the wind wore sandals 
Not to make a noise of going. 
The caterpillars, like little snow men, 
Had wound themselves in their winter coats, 
The hands of the trees were bare 
And their fingers fluttered. 
I was a queen of yellow leaves and brown, 
And the redness of my fairy ring 
Kept me warm. 
For the wind blew near, 
Though he made no noise of going, 
And I hadn't a close-made wrap 
Like the caterpillars. 
Even a queen of fairies can be cold 
When summer has forgotten and gone ! 
Keep me warm, red leaves; 
Don't let the frost tiptoe into my ring 
On the magic grass ! 



[31] 



THE DREAM 

WHEN I slept, I thought I was upon the 
mountain-tops, 
And this is my dream. 

I saw the little people come out into the night, 
I saw their wings glittering under the stars. 
Crickets played all the tunes they knew. 
It was so comfortable with light . . . 
Stars, a rainbow, the moon ! 
The fairies had shiny crowns 
On their bright hair. 

The bottoms of their little gowns were roses ! 
It was musical in the moony light, 
And the fairy queen, 
Oh, it was all golden where she came 
With tiny pages on her trail. 
She walked slowly to her high throne, 
Slowly, slowly to music, 
And watched the dancing that went on 
All night long in star-glitter 
On the mountain-tops. 



[32] 



y 



BUTTERFLY 



BUTTERFLY, 
I like the way you wear your wings, 
Show me their colors, 
For the light is going. 
Spread out their edges of gold, 
Before the Sandman puts me to sleep 
And evening murmurs by. 



[33] 



EVENING 

NOW it is dusky, 
And the hermit thrush and the black and 
white warbler 
Are singing and answering together. 
There is sweetness in the tree, 
And fireflies are counting the leaves. 
I like this country, 
I like the way it has, 

But I cannot forget my dream I had of the sea, 
The gulls swinging and calling, 
And the foamy towers of the waves. 



[34] 



THUNDER SHOWER 

THE dark cloud raged. 
Gone was the morning light. 
The big drops darted down : 
The storm stood tall on the rose-trees: 
And the bees that were getting honey 
Out of wet roses, 

The hiding bees would not come out of the flowers 
Into the rain. 



[35] 



RED CROSS SONG 

WHEN I heard the bees humming in the hive, 
They were so busy about their honey, 
I said to my mother, 
What can / give, 

What can / give to help the Red Cross? 
And Mother said to me : 
You can give honey too! 
Honey of smiles! 
Honey of love! 



[36] 



PURPLE ASTERS 

IT isn't alone the asters 
In my garden, 
It is the butterflies gleaming 
Like crowns of kings and queens! 

It isn't alone purple 

And blue on the edge of purple, 

It is what the sun does, 

And the air moving clearly, 

The petals moving and the wings, 

In my queer little garden! 



[37] 



SONG FOR A PLAY 

SOLDIER, drop that golden spear! 
Wait till the fires arise ! 

Wait till the sky drops down and touches the 
spear, 

Crystal and mother-of-pearl! 

The sunlight droops forward 

Like wings. 

The birds sing songs of sun-drops. 

The sky leans down where the spear stands up- 
ward . . . 

I hear music . . . 

It is the end . . . 



[38] 



PEACOCK FEATHERS 

ON trees of fairyland 
Grow peacock feathers of daylight colors 
Like an Austrian fan. 
But there is a strange thing! 
I have heard that night gathers these feathers 
For her cloak; 

I have heard that the stars, the moon, 
Are the eyes of peacock feathers 
From fairy trees. 
It is a thing that may be, 
But I should not be sure of it, my dear, 
If I were you! 



[39] 



RED ROOSTER 



RED ROOSTER in your gray coop, 
O stately creature with tail-feathers red 
and blue, 
Yellow and black, 
You have a comb gay as a parade 
On your head: 
You have pearl trinkets 
On your feet : 

The short feathers smooth along your back 
Are the dark color of wet rocks, 
Or the rippled green of ships 
When I look at their sides through water. 
I don't know how you happened to be made 
So proud, so foolish, 
Wearing your coat of many colors, 
Shouting all day long your crooked words, 
Loud ..'. . sharp . . . not beautiful! 



[40] 



TREE-TOAD 

TREE-TOAD is a small gray person 
With a silver voice. 
Tree-toad is a leaf-gray shadow 
That sings. 

Tree-toad is never seen 
Unless a star squeezes through the leaves, 
Or a moth looks sharply at a gray branch. 
How would it be, I wonder, 
To sing patiently all night, 
Never thinking that people are asleep? 
Raindrops and mist, starriness over the trees. 
The moon, the dew, the other little singers, 
Cricket . . . toad . . . leaf rustling . , . 
They would listen : 
It would be music like weather 
That gets into all the corners 
Of out-of-doors. 

Every night I see little shadows 

I never saw before. 

Every night I hear little voices 

I never heard before. 

When night comes trailing her starry cloak, 

[41] 



TREE-TOAD 



I start out for slumberland, 
With tree-toads calling along the roadside. 
Good-night, I say to one, Good-by, I say to an- 
other : 
/ hope to find you on the way 
We have traveled before! 
I hope to hear you singing on the Road of Dreams! 



: 



[42] 



SEVEN TO NINE YEARS OLD 



THE LONESOME WAVE 

THERE is an island 
In the middle of my heart, 
And all day comes lapping on the shore 
A long silver wave. 
It is the lonesome wave; 
I cannot see the other side of it. 
It will never go away 
Until it meets the glad gold wave 
Of happiness ! 

Wandering over the monstrous rocks, 
Looking into the caves, 
I see my island dark, all cold, 
Until the gold wave sweeps in 
From a sea deep blue, 
And flings itself on the beach. 
Oh, it is joy, then! 
No more whispers like sorrow, 
No more silvery lonesome lapping of the long 
wave . . . 



[45] 



RED-CAP MOSS 

HAVE you seen red-cap moss 
In the woods? 
Have you looked under the trembling caps 
For faces? 

Have you seen wonder on those faces 
Because you are so big? 



[46] 



RAMBLER ROSE 

RAMBLER ROSE in great clusters, 
Looking at me, at my mother with me 
Under this apple-tree, 
Your faces watch us from outside the shade. 

The wind blows on you, 

The rain drops on you, 

The sun shines on you, 
You are brighter than before. 
You turn your faces to the wind 
And watch my mother and me, 
Thinking of things I cannot mention 
Outside of my mind. 
Rambler Rose in the shining wind, 
You smile at me, 
Smile at my mother! 



[47] 



1/ 



GIFT 



THIS is mint and here are three pinks 
I have brought you, Mother. 
They are wet with rain 
And shining with it. 
The pinks smell like more of them 
In a blue vase: 
The mint smells like summer 
In many gardens. 



[48] 



THE WHITE CLOUD 

THERE are many clouds 
But not like the one I see, 
For mine floats like a swan in featheriness 
Over the River of the Broken Pine. 

There are many clouds 
But not like the one that goes sailing 
Like a ship full of gold that shines, 
Like a ship leaning above blue water. 

There are many clouds 

But not like the one I wait for, 

For mine will have a strangeness 

Whiter than anything your eyes remember. 



[49] 



MOON THOUGHT 

THE moon is thinking of the river 
Winding through the mountains far away, 
Because she has a river in her heart 
Full of the same silver. 



[50] 



THE OLD BRIDGE 

THE old bridge has a wrinkled face. 
He bends his back 
For us to go over. 
He moans and weeps 
But we do not hear. 
Sorrow stands in his face 
For the heavy weight and worry 
Of people passing. 

The trees drop their leaves into the water; 
The sky nods to him. 
The leaves float down like small ships 
On the blue surface 
Which is the sky. 
He is not always sad: 
He smiles to see the ships go down 
And the little children 
Playing on the river banks. 



[51] 



FERNS 

SMALL ferns up-coming through the mossy- 
green, 
Up-curling and springing, 
See trees circling round them, 
And the straight brook like a lily-stem : 
Hear the water laughing 
At the stern old pine-tree 
Who keeps sighing to himself all day long 
What's the use! What 's the use! 



[52] 



LAND OF NOD 

I WANDER from mountain to mountain, 
From sea to sea, 
I wander into a country 
Where everyone is asleep. 
There in the Land of Nod 
I never think of home, 
For home is there, 

With sleeping doves and silvery girls, 
Sleeping boys and drowsy roses. 
There I find people whose eyes are heavy, 
And trees with folded wings. 



[53] 



SUN FLOWERS 

SUN-FLOWERS, stop growing! 
If you touch the sky where those clouds are 
passing 
Like tufts of dandelion gone to seed, 
The sky will put you out ! 
You know it is blue like the sea . . . 
Maybe it is wet, too ! 
Your gold faces will be gone forever 
If you brush against that blue 
Ever so softly ! 



[54] 



HOLLAND SONG 
For a Dutch picture 

WHEN light comes creeping through the 
hills 
That shine with mist, 
When winds blow soft, 
Windmills wake and whirl. 
In Holland, in Holland, 
Everything is cheerful 
Across the sea: 

White nets are beside the water 
Where ships sail by. 
The mountains begin to get blue, 
The Dutch girls begin to sing, 
The windmills begin to whirl. 
Then night comes 
The mountains turn dark gray 
And faint away into night. 
Not a bird chirps his song. 
All is drowsy, 
AH is strange, 

With the moon and stars shining round the world : 
The wind stops, 
The windmills stop 
In Holland . . . 

[55] 



FOUNTAIN-TALK 

SAID the fountain to its clear bed, 
" You might flow faster! 
I am sprinkling my best, every day, 
But ice is holding you fast. 
Can't you get out? 
Can't you lift yourself with sun? 
I am tired waiting for slow cold water 
To fling about the air : 
Can't you wake yourself up? " 
But the fountain-basin murmured softly 
" Sleep . . . sleep . . . 
Sleep . . . sleep ... 
You with your talking and talking! 
Hush , . . hush . . . 
/ hear the bird-sandman!" 



is*! 



POPLARS 

THE poplars bow forward and back; 
They are like a fan waving very softly. 
They tremble, 

For they love the wind in their feathery branches, 
They love to look down at the shallows, 
At the mermaids 
On the sandy shore; 
They love to look into morning's face 
Cool in the water. 



[57] 



THE TOWER AND* THE FALCON 

THERE was ^tower, once, , ^ 
In a London street. 
It was the highest, widest, thickest tower, 
The proudest, roundest, finest tower 
Of all towers. m . ;*•*. 

English men passed it by : 
They could not see it all * * * • *■ ■ • 

Because it went above tree-tops and clouds. 

It was lonely up there where the trees stopped 

Until one day 

A blue falcon came flying* . * , «.; \ 

He cried: 

" Tower! Do you know you are the highest, 

finest, roundest, 
The tallest, proudest, greatest, 
Of all the towers % , o> 

In all the world? " \ X # 

He went away. 

That night the tower made a new song 

About himself. 

[58] 



THOUGHTS 

MY thoughts keep going far away 
Into another country under a different sky 
My thoughts are sea-foam and sand; 
They are apple-petals fluttering. 



[59] 



POEM-SKETCH IN THREE PARTS 

(Made for the picture on the jacket of the Nor- 
wegian book, The Great Hunger, 
by Johan Bojer) 

I 

THE ROLLING IN OF THE WAVE 

IT was night when the sky was dark blue 
And the water came in with a wavy look 
\ Like a spider's web. 

The point of the slope came down to the water's 

edge; 
It was green with a fairy ring of forget-me-not 

and fern. 
The white foam licked the side of the slope 
As it came up and bent backward; 
It curled up like a beautiful cinder-tree 
Bending in the wind. 



[60] 



POEM-SKETCH 
II 

THE COMING OF THE GREAT BIRD 

A boy was watching the water 

As it came lapping the edge of fern. 

Little ships passed him 

As the moon came leaning across dark blue rays 

of light. 
The spruce trees saw the white ships sailing away, 
And the moon bending up the blue sky 
Where stars were twinkling like fairy lamps; 
The boy was looking toward foreign lands 
As the ships passed, 

Their white sails glittering in the moonlight. 
He was thinking how he wished to see 
Foreign lands, strange people, 
When suddenly a bird came flying ! 
It swooped down upon the slope 
And spoke to him : 

" Do you want to go across the deep blue sea? 
Get on my back; I will take you!' 
" Oh" cried the little boy, " who sent you? 
Who knew my thoughts of foreign lands?" 



[61] 



POEM-SKETCH 
III 

THE ISLAND 

They flew as the night-wind flowed, very softly, 

They heard sweet singing that the water sang, 

They came to a place where the sea was shallow 

And saw treasure hidden there. 

There was one poplar tree 

On the lonely island, 

Swaying for sadness. 

The clouds went over their heads 

Like a fleet of drifting ships. 

And there they sank down out of the air 

Into the dream. 



[62] 



THE DEW-LIGHT 

THE Dew-man comes over the mountains 
wide, 
Over the deserts of sand, 
With his bag of clear drops 
And his brush of feathers. 
He scatters brightness. 
The white bunnies beg him for dew. 
He sprinkles their fur, 
They shake themselves. 
All the time he is singing 

The unknown world is beautiful! 

He polishes flowers, 

Humming " Oh, beautiful! " 

He sings in the soft light 

That grows out of the dew, 

Out of the misty dew-light that leans over him 

He makes his song ... 

It is beautiful, the unknown world! 



[63] 



YELLOW SUMMER-THROAT 

YELLOW summer-throat sat singing 
In a bending spray of willow tree. 
Thin fine green-y lines on his throat, 
The ruffled outside of his throat, 
Trembled when he sang. 
He kept saying the same thing; 
The willow did not mind. 

/ knew what he said, I knew, 
But how can I tell you? 

I have to watch the willow bend in the wind- 



[6 4 ] 



PEGASUS 

flOME, dear Pegasus , I said, 
\^J Let me ride on your back; 
I have often seen your shadow in the glittering 

creek; 
Pegasus, beautiful Pegasus, 
Let me sit on your back! 

He was away, 

But I was on his back, 

So I went with him. 

We had a castle in a mountain cloud. 

So quickly was he away, 

I had no time to look or speak! 

That was the last I saw of father or mother. 

We went far from the shining creek, 

Farther than I know how to tell you : 

It was good-by. 



[65] 



VENICE BRIDGE 

For a painting 

AWAY back in an old city 
I saw a bridge. 
That bridge belonged to Venice. 
It was to the rainbow clear 
It traveled, 
Over an old canal. 
You had to pass a cloudy gate 
To reach the color . . . 
Bridges do sometimes begin on the earth 
And end in the sky. 



[66] 



NIGHT GOES RUSHING BY 

NIGHT goes hurrying over 
Like sweeping clouds; 
The birds are nested; their song is silent. 
The wind says oo — oo — oo — through the 

trees 
For their lullaby. 
The moon shines down on the sleeping birds. 

My cottage roof is like a sheet of silk 

Spun like a cobweb. 

My apple-trees are bare as the oaks in the forest; 

When the moon shines 

I see no leaves. 

I am alone and very quiet 

Hoping the moon may say something 

Before long. 



[6 7 ] 



// 



DANDELION 



O LITTLE soldier with the golden helmet, 
What are you guarding on my lawn? 
You with your green gun 
And your yellow beard, 
Why do you stand so stiff? 
There is only the grass to fight ! 



[68] 



IF I COULD TELL YOU THE WAY 

DOWN through the forest to the river 
I wander. 
There are swans flying, 
Swans on the water, 
Duck, wild birds. 
Fairies live here; 
They know no sorrow. 
Birds, winds, 
They are the only people. 
If I could tell you the way to this place, 
You would sell your house and your land 
For silver or a little gold, 
You would sail up the river, 
Tie your boat to the Black Stone, 
Build a leaf-hut, make a twig-fire, 
Gather mushrooms, drink spring-water, 
Live alone and sing to yourself 
For a year and a year and a year ! 



[6 9 ] 



ROSE-PETAL 

PETAL with rosy cheeks, 
Petal with thoughts of your own, 
Petal of my crimson-white flower out of June, 
Little petal of my heart ! 



[70] 



/ 



POEMS 

SEE the fur coats go by ! 
The morning is like the inside of a snow-apple, 
I will curl myself cushion-shape 
On the window-seat; 
I will read poems by snow-light. 
If I cannot understand them so, 
I will turn them upside down 
And read them by the red candles 
Of garden brambles. 



[71] 



SEAGARDE 

1WILL return to you 
O stillest and dearest, 
To see the pearl of light 
That flashes in your golden hair; 
To hear you sing your songs of starlight 
And tell your stories of the wonderful land 
Of stars and fleecy sky; 

To say to you that Seagarde will soon be here, 
Seagarde the fairy 
With her seagulls of hope! 



[72] 



EASTER 

ON Easter morn 
Up the faint cloudy sky 
I hear the Easter bell, 

Ding dong . . . ding dong . . 
Easter morning scatters lilies 
On every doorstep; 
Easter morning says a glad thing 
Over and over. 

Poor people, beggars, old women 
Are hearing the Easter bell . . . 

Ding dong . . . ding dong . . 



[73] 



BLUEBIRD 

OH bluebird with light red breast, 
And your blue back like a feathered sky, 
You have to go down south 
Before biting winter comes 
And my flower-beds are covered with fluff out 

of the clouds. 
Before you go, 
Sing me one more song 
Of tree-tops down south, 
Of darkies singing their babies to sleep, 
Of sand and glittering stones 
Where rivers pass; 
Then • . . good-by! 



[74] 



GEOGRAPHY 

I CAN tell balsam trees 
By their grayish bluish silverish look of 
smoke. 
Pine trees fringe out. 
Hemlocks look like Christmas. 
The spruce tree is feathered and rough 
Like the legs of the red chickens in our poultry 

yard. 
I can study my geography from chickens 
Named for Plymouth Rock and Rhode Island, 
And from trees out of Canada. 
No; I shall leave the chickens out. 
I shall make a new geography of my own. 
I shall have a hillside of spruce and hemlock 
Like a separate country, 
And I shall mark a walk of spires on my map, 
A secret road of balsam trees 
With blue buds. 

Trees that smell like a wind out of fairy-land 
Where little people live 
Who need no geography 
But trees. 



[75] 



MARCH THOUGHT 

I AM waiting for the flowers 
To come back: 
I am alone, 
But I can wait for the birds. 



[76] 



MORNING 

THERE is a brook I must hear 
Before I go to sleep. 
There is a birch tree I must visit 
Every night of clearness. 
I have to do some dreaming, 
I have to listen a great deal, 
Before light comes back 
By a silver arrow of cloud, 
And I rub my eyes and say 
// must be morning on this hill! 



[77] 



A 



SONG 

SCARLET bird went sailing away through 
the wood . . . 



// was only a mist of dream 
That floated by. 

Bare boughs of my apple-tree, 
Beautiful gray arms stretched out to me, 
Swaying to and fro like angels' wings . 

It was only a mist of dream 
That floated by. 



[78] 



SNOWFLAKE SONG 

SNOWFLAKES come in fleets 
Like ships over the sea. 
The moon shines down on the crusty snow: 
The stars make the sky sparkle like gold-fish 
In a glassy bowl. 
Bluebirds are gone now, 
But they left their song behind them. 
The moon seems to say: 

It is time for summer when the birds come back 
To pick up their lonesome songs. 



[79] 



s 



SNOWSTORM 

NOWFLAKES are dancing. 
They run down out of heaven. 
Coming home from somewhere down the long 

tired road 
They flake us sometimes 
The way they do the grass, 
And the stretch of the world. 
The grass-blades are crowned with snowflakes. 
They make me think of daisies 
With white frills around their necks 
With golden faces and green gowns ; 
Poor little daisies, 
Tip-toe and shivering 
In the cold! 



[so] 



POPPY 

OH big red poppy, 
You look stern and sturdy, 
Yet you bow to the wind 
And sing a lullaby . . . 

" Sleepy little ones under my breast 

In the moonshine . . ." 
You make this lullaby, 
Sweet, short, 
Slow, beautiful, 
And you thank the dew for giving you a drink. 



[Si] 



BUTTERFLY 

AS I walked through my garden 
I saw a butterfly light on a flower. 
His wings were pink and purple : 
He spoke a small word . . . 
It was Follow! 
" I cannot follow" 
I told him, 
" / have to go the opposite way." 



[82] 



CLOUDS 

THE clouds were gray all day. 
At last they departed 
And the blue diamonds shone again. 
I watched clouds float past and flow back 
Like waves across the sea, 
Waves that are foamy and soft, 
When they hear clouds calling 
Mother Sea, send us up your song 
Of hushaby! 



[8 3 ] 



NARCISSUS 

NARCISSUS, I like to watch you grow 
When snow is shining 
Beyond the crystal glass. 
A coat of snow covers the hills far. 
The sun is setting; 

And you stretch out flowers of palest white 
In the pink of the sun. 



[8 4 ] 



LITTLE SNAIL 

I SAW a little snail 
Come down the garden walk. 
He wagged his head this way . . . that way . . . 
Like a clown in a circus. 
He looked from side to side 
As though he were from a different country. 
I have always said he carries his house on his 

back . . . 
To-day in the rain 
I saw that it was his umbrella ! 



I85] 



CHERRIES ARE RIPE 

THE cherry tree is red now; 
Cherry tree nods his red head 
And calls to the sun : 
Let down the birds out of the sky; 
Send home the birds to build nests in my arms, 
For I am ready to feed them. 
There is a little girl coming for cherries too . . 
(I am that little girl, I who am singing . . .) 
She is coming with hair flying! 
The butterflies will be going (says the cherry) 
For it is getting dusk. 
When it is dawn, 

They will be up and out with the dew, 
And sparkle as the dew does 
On the tips of tall slender green grasses 
Around my feet, 

Or on the cheeks of fruit I have ripened, 
Red cherries for birds 
And children. 



[86] 



A THING FORGOTTEN 

WHITE owl is not gloomy; 
Black bat is not sad. 
It is only that each has forgotten 
Something he used to remember: 
Black bat goes searching . . . searching . 
White owl says over and over 
Who? What? Where? 



[8 7 ] 



LITTLE PAPOOSE 

LITTLE papoose 
Swung high in the branches 
Hears a song of birds, stars, clouds, 
Small nests of birds, 
Small buds of flowers. 

But he is thinking of his mother with dark hair 
Like her horse's mane. 

Fair clouds nod to him 

Where he swings in the tree, 

But he is thinking of his father 

Dark and glistening and wonderful, 

Of his father with a voice like ice and velvet, 

And tones of falling water, 

Of his father who shouts 

Like a storm. 



[88] 



1/ 



FAIRIES AGAIN 

FAIRIES dancing in the woods at night 
Make me think of foreign places, 
Of places unknown. 

Fairies with sparkling crowns and dewy hands, 
Sprinkle flowers and mosses to keep them fresh, 
Talk to the birds to keep them cheery. 
Once a bird came home 
And found a fairy asleep in his nest, 
Upon his baby eggs, 
To keep them warm! 



[8 9 ] 



OH, MY HAZEL-EYED MOTHER 

OH, my hazel-eyed mother, 
I looked behind the mulberry bush 
And saw you standing there. 
You were all in white 
With a star on your forehead. 

Oh, my hazel-eyed mother, 
I do not remember what you said to me, 
But the light floating above you 
Was your love for your little girl. 



[90] 



THE GREEN PALM TREE 

I SAT under a delicate palm tree 
On a shore of sounding waves. 

I felt sure I was alone, 

Listening. 

A sea-gull flew by from France, 
A sea-gull flew by from Spain, 
A sea-gull flew by from Mexico I 

I laughed softly 

When they saw me : 

It was those travelers 

From foreign countries 

Changed my thoughts 

To laughter! 



[91] 



TREASURE 

ROBBERS carry a treasure 
Into a field of wheat. 
With a great bag of silk 
They go on careful feet. 
They dig a hole, deep, deep, 
They bury it under a stone, 
Cover it up with turf, 
Leave it alone. 
What is there in the bag? 
Stones that shine, gold? 
/ cannot rob the robbers ! 
They have not told. 
To-night I'd like to know 
If they will go 
Softly to find the treasure? 
Td like to know 
How much yellow gold 
A bag like that can hold? 



[92] 



TWO PICTURES 

I 

Gorgeous Blue Mountain 

I SEE a great mountain 
Stand among clouds; 
You would never know 
Where it ended. . . . 
Oh, gorgeous blue mountain of my heart 
And of my love for you! 

II 

Sea-Gull 

From a yellow strip of sand 

I watch a gull go by. 

He is bright-eyed 

To see the world of waves. 

All his dream is of the sea. 

All his love is for his mate. 



[93] 



TELL ME 

TELL me quiet things 
When it is shadowy: 
It is at morningbreak you must tell me tales 
Like those about Odysseus, 
Morning is the time for ships 
And strangers! 



[94] 



SILVERHORN 

IT is out in the mountains 
I find him, 
My snowy deer 
With silver horns like dew, 
Horns that sparkle. 
I think I see him in the hollow, 
He is on the high hill! 
I think I see him on the hill, 
He is leaping through the air! 
I think I can ride upon his back, 
He is like moonlight I cannot hold, 
He is like thoughts I lose.^ 
He flows by 
All white . . . 

He makes me think of the brook 
Out of the hills 
With its little foamy points 
Like his twitching ears, 
Like his horns of silver 
Sparkling. 

The brook is his only friend 
When he travels . . . 
Silverhorn, Silverhorn ! 

[95] 



SPARKLING DROP OF WATER 

THE sun shone, 
All was still. 
The sun made one sparkle in one drop 
Before it fell 

Down into the mossy green 
That was the grass. 
It lay there silent 
A long time. 

The sun went, the moon came, 
Again one sparkle in the grass ! 
Day then night, sun then moon, 
Year in, year out, 
So it went on with its life 
For several years 
Until at last it was never heard of 
Any more. 



[96] 



HAY-COCK 

THIS is another kind of sweetness 
Shaped like a bee-hive : 
This is the hive the bees have left, 
It is from this clover-heap 
They took away the honey 
For the other hive ! 



[97] 



ONLY MORNING-GLORY THAT 
FLOWERED 

UNDER the vine I saw one morning-glory 
A tight unfolding bud 
Half out. 

He looked hard down into my lettuce-bed. 
He was thinking hard. 
He said / want a friend! 
I was standing there : 

I said, Well, I am here! Don't you see me? 
But he thought and thought. 

The next day I found him happy, 

Quite out, 

Looking about the world. 

The wind blew sweet airs, 

Carried away his perfume in the sun; 

And near by swung a new flower 

Uncurling its hands . . . 

He was not thoughtful 

Any more ! 



1 98 j 



WEATHER 

WEATHER is the answer 
When I can't go out into flowery places; 
Weather is my wonder 
About the kind of morning 
Hidden behind the hills of sky. 



[99] 



SUMMER-DAY SONG 

WILD birds fly over me. 
I am not the blue curtain overhead, 
I am the one who lives under the sky. 
I swing to the tree-tops, 
I pick strawberries, 
I sing and play, 

And happiness makes me like a great god 
On the earth. 

It makes me think of great things 
A little girl like me 
Could not know of. 



[ ioo] 



PINK ROSE-PETALS 

PINK rose-petals 
. Fluttering down in hosts, . 
I know what you mean 
Sometimes, in Spring. 
It is love you mean. 

Love has a gray bird 
That flutters down; 
A dove that comes flying 
Saying the same thing. 



H 
R 



low happy it makes me to think of it, 
ose-petals . . . the gray dove . • . 



[ 101 ] 



THE LONESOME GREEN APPLE 

THERE was a little green apple 
That had lasted over winter. 
He had one leaf . . . 
In spite of that he was lonesome. 
He wondered what he could do 
When the blossoms were all around him, 
But one day he saw something! 
Petals were falling, faces were looking out, 
Shapes like his were coming in the buds; 
Then he said: 
" // / hold on 
There will be a tree-full, 
And I shall know more than any of them! " 



[ 102] 



I AM 

1AM willowy boughs 
For coolness; 
I am gold-finch wings 
For darkness; 
I am a little grape 
Thinking of September, 
I am a very small violet 
Thinking of May. 



t 103] 



MUSHROOM SONG 

OH little mushrooms with brown faces 
underneath 
And bare white heads, 

You think of summer and you think of song . . . 
Why don't you think of me 
In my little white bed 
In the night? 

You think only of your singsong and your dances, 
Following your leader round and round, 
You think only of the grass 
And the green apples and leaves 
Dropping out of the blue . . . 
Why don't you think of me asleep 
In my little white bed? 
The wind thinks of me, 
Brown-white dancers! 
You forget, 
But the wind remembers. 



[ 104] 



THE APPLE-JELLY-FISH-TREE 

DOWN in the depths of the sea 
Grew the Apple-Jelly-Fish-Tree. 
It was named by a queer old robber 
And his mates three. 

I watched it for a second, 
I watched it for a day. 
It did not change color 
For its colors stay. 

It was as red, as yellow, as white, as blue 
As gold and stones with the light through 

/ watched it long and long 
Till a flying sunfish 
Swam through its branches. 
He had opal wings 
And a sapphire tail. 

No wonder robbers like to stay 
Where fish so shining come to play ! 



[105] 



THREE LOVES 

ANGEL-LOVE, 
Fairy-love, 
Wave-love, 

Which will you choose ? 

Angel-love . . . golden-yellow and far white . 
Fairy-love . . . golden yellow and green . . . 
Wave-love . . . scarlet and azure blue . . • 
Which will you choose? 

I will keep them in a box 

Locked with a twisted key. 

I will give them to people who need love, 

I will let them choose. 

Fairy-love blows away like leaves. 

Angels I know little about. 

For myself I choose wave-love 

Because of the wind and the sea and my heart. 



I 106 ] 



THE FIELD OF WONDER 

WHAT could be more wonderful 
Than the place where I walk sometimes? 
Swaying like trees in rain . . . 
Swaying like trees in sunshine 
When breezes stir nothing but happiness . . . 
What could be more lovely? 
I walk in the Field of Wonder 
Where colors come to be; 
I stare at the sky . . . 
I feel myself lifting on the wind 
As the swallows lift and blow upward . . . 
I see colors fade out, they die away . . . 
I blow across a cloud ... I am lifted . . . 
How can I change again into a little girl 
When wings are in my feeling of gladness? 
This is strange to know 
On a summer day at noon, 
This is a wild new joy 
When summer is over. 
The scarlet of three maple trees 
Will guide me home, 
Oh mother my dear ! 
Fear nothing : I will come home 
Before snow falls! 

[ 107] 



MOON DOVES 

THE moon has a dove-cote safe and small, 
Hid in the velvet sky : 
The doves are her companions sweet; 
She has no others. 
Moon doves on the wing are white 
As a valley of stars, 
When they fly, there is shining 
Like a golden river. 
/ see so many whirling away and away, 
How can they get home again? 
The moon is calm and never wears an anxious 

look, 
She goes on smiling. 
/ hear so many doves along the sky 
How will her dove-cote hold them? 
The moon says not one word to me; 
She lets me wonder. 



[108] 



I WENT TO SEA 

I WENT to sea in a glass-bottomed boat 
And found that the loveliest shells of all 
Are hidden below in valleys of sand. 
I saw coral and sponge and weed 
And bubbles like jewels dangling. 
I saw a creature with eyes of mist 
Go by slowly. 

Star-fish fingers held the water . . . 
Let it go again . . . 
I saw little fish, the children of the sea ; 
They were gay and busy. 

I wanted the sea-weed purple ; I wanted the shells ; 
I wanted a little fish to hold in my hands ; 
I wanted the big fish to stop wandering about, 
And tell me all they knew . . . 
I have come back safe and dry 
And know no more secrets 
Than yesterday! 



[ 109 ] 



THREE THOUGHTS OF MY HEART 

AS I was straying by the forest brook 
I heard my heart speak to me : 
Listen; said my heart, 
/ have three thoughts for you . . . 
A thought of clouds, 
A thought of birds, 
A thought of flowers. 

I sat upon a cushion of moss, 

Listening, 

Where the light played, and the green shadows 

What would you do . . . I asked my heart . . 

// you were a floating ship of the sky . . . 

// you were a peering bird . . . 

// you were a wild geranium? 

And my heart made answer : 

That is what I wonder and wonder! 

After all it is life I love, 

After all I am a living thing, 

After all I am the heart of you . . . 

/ am content! 



[no] 



SNOW-CAPPED MOUNTAIN 

SNOW-CAPPED mountain, so white, so tall, 
The whole sea 
Must stand behind you! 

Snow-capped mountain, with the wind on your 

forehead, 
Do you hold the eagles' nests ? 

Proud thing, 

You shine like a lily, 

Yet with a different whiteness; 

I should not dare to venture 

Up your slippery towers, 

For I am thinking you lean too far 

Over the Edge of the World! 



[mi 



THE BROOK AND ITS CHILDREN 

OB ROOK, running down your mossy way, 
I hear only your voice 
And the murmuring fir-trees; 
Where are your children? 
Where are the magic stones, your children? " 

The brook answered me sweetly , 

" I left them on the Alp, 

In steep fields. 

They were trying to hold me back, 

To keep me from this shady path of happiness; 

But I went onward day by day 

Until they got used to seeing me pass. 

Now, they stand there in an enchantment 

On the mountain-side, 

While I travel fields of elm and poplar." 



[112] 



BIRD OF PARADISE 

I WAS walking in a meadow of Paradise 
When I heard a singing 
Far away and sweet 
Like a Roman harp, 
Sweet and murmurous 
Like the wind, 
Far and soft 
Like the fir trees. 

It will not change a song 

If the bird has a golden crest; 

No feathers of blue and rose-red 

Could make a song. 

I have known in my dreaming 

A gray bird that sang 

While all the fields listened ! 

The Bird of Paradise is like flowers of many trees 

Blooming on one: 

I saw him in the meadow, 

But it was the gray bird I heard singing 

Beyond and far. 



[113] 



SHINY BROOK 

OH, shiny brook, 
I watch you on your way to the sea, 
And see little faces peering up 
Out of the water . . . 
Water-fairies . . . 
Strange smiles and questions. 
They are your pebbles sweet, 
Golden with foam of the sun, 
Blue with foam of the sky. 
I know their way of speaking, 
Of talking to each other: 
I hear them telling secrets 
About green moss, about fish that get lost, 
And how I am sitting on a big stone 
Getting my feet wet in Shiny Brook 
To watch their surprising ways ! 



[ir4l 



HILLS 

THE hills are going somewhere; 
They have been on the way a long time. 
They are like camels in a line • 
But they move more slowly. 
Sometimes at sunset they carry silks, 
But most of the time silver birch trees, 
Heavy rocks, heavy trees, gold leaves 
On heavy branches till they are aching . . . 
Birches like silver bars they can hardly lift 
With grass so thick about their feet to hinder . 
They have not gone far 
In the time I've watched them . . . 



[115] 



ADVENTURE 

I WENT slowly through the wood of shadows, 
Thinking always I should meet some one : 
There was no one. 

I found a hollow 

Sweet to rest in all night long: 

I did not stay. 

I came out beyond the trees 

To the moaning sea. 

Over the sea swam a cloud the outline of a ship: 

What if that ship held my adventure 

Under its sails? 

Come quickly to me, come quickly, 

I am waiting. 

I am here on the sand; 

Sail close! 

I want to go over the waves . . . 

The sand holds me hack. 

Oh adventure, if you belong to me } 

Don't blow away down the sky! 



[116] 



FAIRIES 

I CANNOT see fairies. 
I dream them. 
There is no fairy can hide from me; 
I keep on dreaming till I find him : 
There you are, Primrose! I see you, Black 
Wing! 



C«7] 



HUMMING-BIRD 

WHY do you stand on the air 
And no sun shining? 
How can you hold yourself so still 
On raindrops sliding? 
They change and fall, they are not steady, 
But you do not know they are gone. 
Is there a silver wire 
I cannot see? 
Is the wind your perch? 
Raindrops slide down your little shoulders . 
They do not wet you : 
I think you are not real 
In your green feathers ! 
You are not a humming-bird at all 
Standing on air above the garden! 
I dreamed you the way I dream fairies, 
Or the flower I lost yesterday ! 



[n8] 



BLUE GRASS 

BLUE grass flowering in the field, 
You are my heart's content. 
It is not only through the day I see you, 
But in dreams at night 
When you trudge up the hill 
Along the forest, 
As I do! 

You are small to shine so, 
Nobody speaks of you much, 
Because of daisies and such summer blooms. 
When you wonder why I like you 
It makes me wonder too ! 
Maybe I remember when you grew high 
Like a tree above my head, 
Because I was a fairy. 



["9] 



ENVOY 

IF I am happy, and you, 
And there are things to do, 
It seems to be the reason 
Of this world! 



THE END 



[ 120] 



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